


I'll properly attend today

by Asahi_san



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Death, Tragedy, severed limbs, terrorist attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8811685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asahi_san/pseuds/Asahi_san
Summary: You always skip class. You're in college but you're gifted so you can afford it, you don't attend all the classes and there are even some you've never been to but you know you're gonna pass the exams anyway, you always do. But today you're angry at yourself, because you ditched almost all of last week's classes so no more. Today you'll properly attend. For the last time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> About a nightmare I have quite often.

Your alarm rings. It is set three times because the day you needed it the most it didn't ring and you missed an important exam and now, you'd have to work twice as hard because to not get a failing grade after this, you'll need nothing short of a miracle. Well it's supposed to be your best subject so there's still a way though.

  
There you are, at it again, as if thinking about it now would help, but it distracted your mind from the necessity of getting up for a few seconds so you guess that it got what it wanted : more precious seconds of half-sleep. Usually you don’t even bother opening your eyes, you just grab your phone from where it always is, click the “I heard you” button and roll on the other side to go back to sleep, and to hell with your classes of the day. But not today. Because today you’re tired of your own behavior. You didn’t move hundreds of kilometers away from your family to laze around.

You’re supposed to go to your classes, listen properly, take notes and go back once you’re done to work on them. And that’s exactly what you’d do today. So today you open your eyes after turning off your alarm. You struggle to do just that because you’ve been going to bed at 2am lately and it’s barely 7 now. Not enough sleep at all. You feel like shit but you deserve it. You roll on your back and fight to focus your stare on the ceiling. Once you’re done you grab your phone and check social medias, nothing ever happens but it’s a nice way to waste time. Precisely 20 minutes. One more and you’d be late, but you just can’t gather the strength to get up any earlier than that. So at 7.20am, on the verge of lateness, you hurry out of bed and to the washroom, dress, put make-up on, you open the shutters, grab a biscuit to eat on the way, put your glasses and lock the door.

You’re out at 7.41. A minute late on your usual schedule. In 4 minutes, the bus will take the passengers and if you’re not among them, you’ll be late to class and you’ll have to wait 15 minutes outside in the freezing weather until the next one. No way in hell. You’re not much of an athlete but you’ll run if you have to. The road you take is the same as the bus anyway, so you’ll see it. You’ll only run then. It only happened once and you were out of breathe by the time you reached the bus stop but you got on anyway. This time would be the same. And you reached the stop on time. 7.45. The bus is late. Which is good because that meant you didn’t have to run.

Same people as always. The girl with the glasses, she’s kind of small so you wonder if she’s in middle school or maybe high school. You wonder if she wonders about you too. And then there’s the high school student, that guy is probably popular, he looks it at least, you never were, you were the shy nerdy girl, always alone, but he, he must have a girlfriend and a bunch of friends, he’s fashionable and has headphones on, he’s resting his back against the wall with one of his leg up, you can tell he’s confident. And there’s a woman, she gets off the bus before the final stop so you don’t really know what she does, she might be teacher in one of the schools around, she probably got here first because she gets to sit on the bench, there’s more than enough room for three people but the first one to reach the stop gets to sit, and the others stay standing. You don’t even know why you do that, it’s the same people every day, it wouldn’t hurt to sit next to one of them one time. But not today because the bus is here.

You get closer to where you’ll know it stop. It’s Monday so it’s going to be crowded, you’ll have to fight to get in, you don’t even hope for a place to sit anymore, you know that’s never going to happen. You show your card to the bus driver when you greet him. It’s a different one every day, you don’t know how or why but it’s never the same person. Everyone is pushed against one another, that’s the part you hate most and also part of the reason you skip so much. You hate crowds even though you’re used to it. It always feels like you can’t breathe. So you just dissociate, forget about where you are and what you’re doing, just lose yourself to the music, you automatically move forward when people leave the bus so others can get on.

Until the final stop. It’s the subway. Two people are on either side of the stairway, handing out free daily newspapers. You hate it. On your first day here you greeted them and politely refused but you gradually grew tired of it. You stopped being polite. Then you stopped greeting them. And you just started ignoring them altogether after a few days. You’re from a tiny town of the countryside. In this huge town everybody wants something from you, people constantly ask for your attention, they want you to take or to give something. You just want to go where you’re supposed to go and get it over with. After a while they started recognizing you, they know they shouldn’t bother handing you a newspaper because you won’t take it. You never take it.

On the other side of the stairway, going up, are a bunch of highschoolers, you don’t even know where the high school is, but they’re always there in the morning, like a pack, unable to let go of one another. In high school you were the loner, you didn’t have a pack and you had stopped wishing for one years before. Now high schoolers make you feel uncomfortable. They remind you of years not worth remembering. So you just stare right ahead, to the automatic doors, you swipe your card and you are through. Now you have to get to the otherside of the platform. And on for 20 minutes of hell with all the people going to school or to work.

The board announces the upcoming subway, and you get on it. You’re in one of the first station of the line so you just might get to sit, but you won’t because if you do and an elderly get on you’ll have to stand with the crowd so instead you target the long tool on the side, three people can lean on it, you’re not really standing but you’re not sitting either so you won’t have to move. Only the people sitting will have to move and if they don’t, no one will complain about you, it’s a strategy set weeks ago wich takes everything into consideration. A perfect routine. Your bag lays in between your feet but you still hold on to the handle so you don’t have to bend down to pick it up when you reach college because most people will get down then and since you’re on one of the farthest place from the door, you might not have time to get off. The girl from the bus stop is there. She never listens to music so you wonder how she gets through this boring routine every single day. You kind of dissociate again. Songs from Queen, The Smiths, Francis Cabrel and Serge Lamas resonates in your mind.

  
The ground. Against your cheek. It hurts. Chaos. Can’t see. Everything a blurr. Hurts. Hurts. Hurts. Hurt all over. Left wrist. Can’t move. Ribs. So painful. Blood runs down your forehead. Is it? It’s hot. And it hurts. It has to be blood. It can’t be blood. Everything was fine. Freddie Mercury was singing Don’t Stop Me Now. Now it hurts all over. You can see a hand. A few feet away. You try to follow the limb. But there’s no face. Actually there’s no arm either. Just a hand. And blood. So much blood. You want to puke. But you can’t because it hurts too much. It hurts so much it’s dulling your senses. You see the bag of the girl from the bus stop but not the girl herself. Maybe she’s dead. Maybe all the people you see lying around are too. Maybe you will be too soon because there’s no way one can feel so much pain and survive. You try to move but you can’t. You can’t even reach for your phone. But you probably don’t have it anymore anyway because you can’t feel your headphones. Maybe it was crushed by one of the rocks you can see. Why are there rocks ? Probably because of the explosion. Ah yeah, there was an explosion. And then the world shook. And then you can’t remember until the pain. The pain. The pain. The pain. Some people are moving. Good. It means they’re not in as much pain as you are. But you wish they could bear a bit of the pain you’re feeling in your stead. A mother is crying a name. I can’t hear it. But she’s crawling on the ground. She’s missing a leg, below the knee, nothing remains. Papers are shattered on the floor. They look like exams sheets. They seem to come from a teacher’s briefcase. You wonder if his students will ever get these works back. Probably not. And it probably don’t matter. But it helps you focus. Focus on something other than the pain. You think people are screaming but you can’t hear. You try to move your hand to your ear but you can’t either. You might be crying but you can’t really tell the difference between the tears and the blood. Both are hot liquids you're covered in. How long has it been ? You don’t know you, can’t tell anything anymore. Nothing really matters now. Everything’s a blurr. Something black blocks your vision but you’re still conscious. You try to focus but you can feel your consciousness fading. Something touches your neck. Someone is checking your pulse. He shouts. He speaks to you. You don’t know what he’s saying. You try to speak. You don’t know if the words make sense. You don’t know what you’re trying to say anyway. “urts…hur…ts…” The guy probably can’t tell what I’m saying either. I don’t know what I should say. I don’t what would be suitable last words. I remember a post I saw on Tumblr once. I think it was something along the lines of “fun things to say when you die”. Now that it’s come down to it it doesn’t feel funny at all but back then you thought it was hilarious. Which one did you like best already ? Ah, yeah…  
“You…shou…’d…see…th…face…yo…’re…mak’in”  
Yeah, thinking back on it, it’s not funny at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it, kudos and comments are always appreciated ! :)  
> This was unbeta'd  
> Also I'm not a native english-speaker so feel free to tell me in the comments if there are any mistakes !


End file.
